


Give Me A Little Time, Not Today

by Misslethwaite



Series: Don't Bring Tomorrow [2]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Basically Mallory's bumpy road to accepting Supremacy, F/F, Foxxay (implied), Not much fluff here folks I'm afraid, and glimpse into each character's grief on Cordelia's passing in their own ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misslethwaite/pseuds/Misslethwaite
Summary: Mallory coming to terms with the Supremacy and the consequences of Cordelia's passing for each of the witches, through her eyes. A sort-of continuation of/in the world of my short drabble 'Tomorrow Was Too Soon.'





	1. And the moon it, shines,

**Author's Note:**

> So, besides the description in the summary, I'm not entirely sure what this is. The sweet KariFoxxe asked about/for Misty's perspectives on events in the previous work and when I sat down to write that, this came out instead. Probably not at all what you were hoping for, my friend, and I apologise. But also sometimes some stories just have to write themselves out of your system, we don't always know why and this seems to be one of them. This did seem to be an excuse for my subconscious to dump in as many random headcanons as it pleased throughout the text.  
> I apologise for any ooc-ness. I have never written Mallory or Coco before and honestly never thought I would, so please bare with any glaring character weirdness.
> 
>  _And when the moon, it shines,_  
>  _I will leave two lines_  
>  _Just find my love, then find me_ ~ 'Tomorrow', Daughter

 Mallory refused to even set foot in the old supreme’s office at first. She hadn’t been in that hospital room with them, with the ‘original coven’ as they had often unceremoniously been dubbed by some of the younger students, she had been left behind to look after the other girls and keep the calm in the chaos as Cordelia had been coaching her to do. But she knew. She had been sat with Coco in the kitchen, nursing a hot cocoa the blonde had made for her, joking about the calories of cream and marshmallow to lift the sombre successors spirits. Mallory had almost smiled then, until the warmth in her stomach from a sip of the sweet drink had become a steady heat that threaded through her veins and washed through her skin like sweet cleansing fire. A bittersweet fire. For she knew whose ashes she had risen from. Such heady heat had not been able to quell the well of tears that had pooled in her eyes then. To her credit, Coco had said nothing, only wrapped her arms around Mallory and helped take the mug from trembling hands and place it back on the table where it remained for the rest of the evening untouched. When the other girls had returned, without the esteemed headmistress, there was no doubt. They confirmed what Mallory already knew, without a word.

Zoe had been the first to find Mallory a short while after, to enquire about taking up the responsibilities she was due. The older witch had looked on the verge of sobs herself, perhaps had already given in, in the privacy of a quiet council room, judging by the sheen of her cheeks but she had held herself surprisingly in check as she walked through that door. As horrible as it was, the council could only take care of so much before whispers would begin, and although Cordelia had always been attentive in her administration, the workload would inevitably catch up. But to be made aware of such impending responsibility didn’t mean that Mallory was any less reluctant to invade the space that had previously been Cordelia’s own.

The ghost of her unique aura still lingered in that office, in the way the light fell across the walls, the careful precision of everything that had been left in the room. There was even a sense of calm that filtered through. But to Mallory it felt hollow. Like something was missing. Where was the cause of that comfort? How many times had she opened that door and that light from the windows had fallen across a delicate head of golden hair. How many times had she stepped carefully into that room and been struck by the soft gaze, the gentle smile that would look up from whatever papers were gathered on the desk and tenderly enquire how she was feeling. Always how she was feeling. Before anything else, before any topic could be broached, before she could ever ask the Supreme the same thing. She still had so many questions. Of course, there was no affectionate voice to answer anything now.

The first time Mallory tried to sit at the desk, she lasted all of twenty-three minutes. Perhaps a new record then. Before the sudden sob choked her throat, already suffocating in the silence and she had pushed herself up from the chair and fled the room, only to collide with a fairly disgruntled Madison who stumbled in her heels and dropped the cigarette in hand, barking at her assailant to watch where the fuck they were going. The hand however, that had caught the new supreme’s arm in rage, lingered just a few moments too long when the older blonde caught her watery gaze. The two of them said nothing, but the slight shadows under Madison’s eyes, missed by otherwise perfect makeup did not escape Mallory’s notice, nor the way the other witch’s grip on her arm eased just enough to almost be soft instead of stern. Much as her voice did with a quiet “ _watch yourself_ …” It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Madison let go at the sound of footsteps on the stairs but as Mallory watched her go, the usually sashay in her strides seemed a little more subdued than usual. Coco’s voice broke her from her thoughts, having hit the top of the stairs and asked what that was all about but Mallory merely shook her head and wiped at her eyes. For just a few moments, she ignored Coco’s concerned comments about a fellow student who had asked a question she couldn’t answer, cuz that was some supreme shit or something- whatever it was, however she proceeded to describe it, Mallory had stopped listening as she wrapped herself in Coco’e embrace. An embrace that was returned with initial confusion, then unquestioned comfort. Coco couldn’t shift the terrible weight that had fallen on the young woman’s shoulders, but she could be there at least, with cocoa (which had swiftly become a staple sympathy tactic) or hugs, when the burden felt far too heavy to carry.

The next time Mallory tried to steel herself in that room, she fared a little better. Thirty-seven minutes, give or take. Most spent with white hands curled around the armrests of the chair tightly, trying to steady her breathing in the stillness. How had Cordelia ever felt comfortable in this chair? Mallory had never given a thought for the feel of the seat, or the rest at her back. With how long the old Supreme had been known to hole herself up in that office, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was ever as uncomfortable for her as it was for Mallory then. Or did she just ignore it and let the focus of her work detract. Mallory leaned back against the seat slowly, carefully and tried to adjust to the chair as Cordelia might have done. Then again, she had always exuded such an upright posture, even to the end, where she could. An image that contrasted the other one of the older witch being bent over the desk in the throes of work that she had caught only once before Cordelia had righted herself. She must have done that often out of sight though, as the barest hint of a smile pulled up at the edge of Mallory’s lips, caught in the memory of the time she had accidentally eavesdropped on Cordelia and Misty in this very room. The swamp witch’s accented lilt had been criticising the knots of stress in the Supreme’s back from leaning in the chair, who had meekly defended her need to work before any apparent resolve had devolved into a series of moaning sounds Mallory had not heard before or since. It had turned her own cheeks a tinge of pink then, suddenly not so willing to intrude, but the memory had indeed become a fond one for its humour. Not least because at some point during the wedding, after one too many glasses of wine, the memory had been wheedled out of her and Madison had proceeded to thus torment the newlyweds for the rest of the night with mocking moans added to her ammunition of antagonisms.

It’s Zoe who interrupts her musings. The older witch doesn’t knock on the door, per se, but she might as well have for all her tentativeness at pushing the old door open. There is a relieved sigh, and something akin to ‘ _there you are_ ,’ from the council member as she stepped into room. She seemed to relax once she realised she had no reason to worry. She had searched for the young supreme throughout the academy, and having been unable to find her either in the greenhouse or any of the rooms downstairs, she had decided to try the upper floors. Given Mallory’s previous reluctance to remain in the office, Zoe had assumed that was one of the less likely places for her to be found. So she was pleasantly surprised to see the younger witch not only at the desk, while she mentioned the class Mallory had agreed to take on – the beginnings of coming into her role as teacher as well as the rest the Supreme required that she had slowly started with - but to see her with a hint of a smile that darted across her features. Even briefly, it was a good sign. Although Zoe did ask what had distracted her so from her schedule, Mallory still couldn’t quite bring herself to confess just yet. They made their way down from the office to the class together, no longer tutor and student but as equals, regardless of power. They talked of simpler things, classes and pop culture and how to keep on top of it all. It still hurt, as much as it healed, when Zoe would make a passing remark or a throwaway comment about minor things Cordelia used to do, how she would match her pace with whoever she walked the academy halls with, never sweep ahead and leave anyone to trail behind, never hold back and expect others to wait. How she would talk of the weather one day, and yet another console any concerns she always encouraged to voice. The polite nod of the head, or touch of the hand; the acknowledgement of another equal soul whenever she parted from a conversation. All these little things, some Mallory had been so aware of, and others she had not and simply taken for granted. Unlike Zoe, or Queenie, or even Madison, Mallory still could not bring herself to voice her own candid captured memories so openly. It was, as if she were to speak the memories aloud would be to let them loose and she was afraid she would not be able to catch them again. Resurgence could not resurrect lost reminiscence. It could not restore a broken heart either…

*

When Mallory once again found herself in the office a few days later, it was not as she had left it. The door had been left ajar, which confused her to begin with, as besides herself hardly anyone ventured to open it. She was much more accustomed to students accosting her with questions downstairs, such as in the kitchen or the greenhouse, it was rare for any of them to enter the office as it was still relatively uncommon to find Mallory there. A familiar scent still lingered in the air, whoever it was had been there recently, perhaps during the last class of divination she had helped out with downstairs. The room would have been empty after all. Once she neared the desk, she noticed the papers that had been in a neat pile on the top had been scattered, some having fallen to the floor in whatever disarray had occurred. Behind the desk, all the drawers had been pulled open, the contents rifled through. Someone had been looking for something, but had they found it? As far as Mallory knew, not that she had ventured far beyond the top left drawer for a spare pen, there was nothing in those drawers of note besides stationery and the odd book that might have been left in there maybe. She tentatively touched a hand to the edge of one of the drawers. The desperation was practically still palpable in the reckless haste. It had all been left so pristine up until then. Even the few times Mallory had worked on the desk, only once or twice by then, she had returned everything to its pristine state after. For such a simply designed room, she hadn’t given any thought to anything being hidden in there. She would have noticed, wouldn’t she? Mallory traced a hand along the top of the desk, as her thoughts wondered. _What secrets did you keep here, Cordelia?_

Then she felt it. A twinge, like a distant pull towards the chest of drawers at the side of the room. These too had been pulled open, some of their contents spilled out onto the hardwood floor. One drawer had even been pulled so hard, it had stuck at an odd angle. And that was how Mallory almost missed it. Distracted by the mess, the slight tugging sensation had almost been swallowed up by trying to make sense of it all. It was only as she knocked the toe of her boot on something that rolled under the drawers and she bent down to retrieve it that the tugging sensation became stronger. Curious and concerned, she reached out under the drawers with a hand but couldn’t quite grasp anything underneath. Her finger tips brushed the edges of something that was most definitely not the cylindrical object that she had knocked under there. She stood up straight again and with a quick wave of telekinesis, drew out whatever may have been lurking in the dust under the drawers. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t much. Even the layer of dust that was swept up from underneath was not as heavy as she might have expected. The pen she had kicked rolled back out, back towards the desk but rather than pick it up to return it to the rightful place, her gaze was drawn to the only other object of note that had been swept out. A leather-bound book. Thinner than the tomes stocked on most of the shelves downstairs, but weightier than a slim notebook, Mallory carefully picked it up. The cracked, aged cover showed no sign of what the book was about or who it may have been written by. But that was hardly unusual, a number of Cordelia’s collected volumes were so old the titles had worn away, and there were one or two texts Mallory knew she kept that had no title or author deliberately to dissuade interest in the contents. The one in her hands, she presumed was probably one of the latter texts.

There was barely any dust on the cover, it must not have been down there long, or perhaps fallen down under the drawers only recently. Mallory thumbed through a few of the pages, seeing many printed with various inked verses. It took her a few pages to realise that what she held in her hands was not a book of obscure spells she had never seen, as she would have thought from a glance, but actually a book of poetry. An easy mistake to make given the collection of occult texts in the academy and no title or name to go by on the cover or the spine. She flipped to the back of the book in hopes of finding even a publishing note in the back perhaps. Instead she came across a flyleaf that looked a little different to the rest of the pages. The ink had bled into the page a little more with a deeper indent as though there had been pressure on the page. Most notably, the calligraphy was different, more cursive, less rigidly printed.

Cordelia’s handwriting. She had written on the back page. But the words were all in something like Latin, or a language Mallory couldn’t read then and there by any means. The verses, shorter than the others found in the rest of the book, looked pretty in the looping scrawl and she longed to know what it meant, what it said. Why it had been written down in that book and not some of the abundant stationery the supreme had kept in her desk instead. Cordelia had always been so careful with some of the older books, it seemed odd that she would have chosen to write in one like that, however decoratively. At the same time, for Mallory, gazing down at that page felt like intruding on some private thought she had previously not been privy to. She flicked through some of the other pages to see if anything else had been scribbled in the volume, but there was nothing. At least until she hit a page where a small envelope had been tucked tightly into the binding. That tugging sensation returned. This was it. This was what had been calling her over. Maybe even whatever whoever had been in the office had been looking for. Carefully Mallory took the book back to the desk and pried the envelope out with mindful fingers, propping the book on the wooden surface once she had pulled the envelope free. She could ask Zoe to help her translate it later, she was good with those kinds of books, or knew where to go to if she couldn’t help. Mallory flipped the white paper over in her hands, mindful of the lip that had surprisingly not been stuck down like she had initially thought, to glimpse at the front. There was only one word, in that same looping delicate scrawl written across it. One name. _Misty_.

Suddenly the open lip of the envelope looked even more treacherous to be fiddling with. Perhaps it was nothing, just something old that had been stashed as a bookmark and forgotten about. Or perhaps, it was everything, words left unsaid… She felt like a voyeur, gazing at something personal, private, and unsure what to do with it but afraid to ask anyone else in case she be accused of snooping around in the old supreme’s things. But she hadn’t been snooping, she had only followed her instincts which had led her to this folded paper.

The sudden creak of the door had her dropping the slip as if it burned. She fought the flush to her cheeks at being caught in the moment when she heard Queenie’s voice.

“Hey- what the hell you got going on in here girl, looks like a storm blew through here,” the voodoo witch looked about the room, surprised at the state of it and Mallory stood stock still in the center. But rather than berate the young supreme for the mess, Queenie merely tilted her head slightly, squinted her eyes with concern. “Is everything alright?”

 _Everything’s fine_. That’s what she wanted to say. But the words choked in her throat. And Queenie would see straight through the lie. Mallory had mastered many skills as Supreme but unfortunately lying to her friends, at least where her wellbeing was concerned, was not yet one of them. Instead she offered the other witch a minimal shrug at best as she knelt down and picked up the envelope she had dropped. She thought Queenie would ask more questions. Had it been Zoe who had intruded, she might have wanted to pry more, and Madison may have made a remark or two perhaps whether she meant well or not, but the touch of Queenie’s hand to her shoulder, having stepped past scattered papers and things strewn over the floor, spoke volumes that need not be said aloud.

Both pairs of eyes looked down at the letter in her hands, the elegant writing. She may have been imagining it, but she thought for a second she might have heard a sharp intake of breath. Or perhaps it had been a sigh. Maybe even both. Or neither. A beat of heavy silence followed, before Mallory’s doe-eyes looked up again into Queenie’s saddened countenance.

“Do you know where she is?”


	2. I will leave two lines,

If anyone were to ask how they had got home that first night, none of the girls would have had an answer to give. It may have involved transmutation, it may have involved a taxi, none could tell as for all it was achieved in a dense fog of grief that enveloped every one. Like a heavy shroud that refused to shift, the council and cohorts of Miss Robichaux’s Academy walked the white halls with heavy weight upon their shoulders. None more so than Misty. Zoe thought the swamp witch would take off back to her swamp at the first given chance, to lose herself amongst the undergrowth. The vivid life of the wilderness could have only done the other witch some good to her mind, barring the loneliness perhaps the solitude was what she would need to come to terms with her own emotions.

It was Queenie, who had convinced the swamp witch to come back that first night. Although convinced was putting it lightly as she had all but dragged the taller witch who was lost to her own emotions and exhaustion that rolled from her in waves. The voodoo witch said there was no way they could let her stay at the hospital, especially with the scene she had caused which would only draw unwanted attention to the sudden – was it really though? – passing of their supreme before they were ready to face the consequences.

Mallory, however, understood. She too still felt the aura that lingered in the academy halls, the presence in rooms, that was both a blessing and a curse. To be so close and yet so far. Mallory had lost a tutor, friend and confidante, but Misty…no-one needed any magic to see she had lost so much more than that. Since that devastating night, the swamp witch was rarely seen. It was rarer still for anyone to find her should they go searching. Who was once a shining light throughout the academy, had become one with the pale shadows instead. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floors, if and when she left the rooms she locked herself in at all. That was one reason why Mallory had outright refused to move into Cordelia’s old room when the question had finally come up from her council. To remain in the rooms with the other girls seemed at odds with her newly prominent station but Mallory had been adamant. But it was not so much for herself – though taking over the old supreme’s office had proved difficult enough, she couldn’t imagine displacing a space so personal as well – it was for Misty.

For that second night, the night after everything had changed, Mallory had been unable to sleep, not used to the power pounding through her veins or the pain that came with knowing where it came from. And she had walked the corridors late into the night and found herself at Cordelia’s door as she had done so many nights before when the pressure had been too much, and she had caved into her precious tutor’s arms who had soothed her worries and sobs with sweet words and a warm embrace. She had never noticed then how weak even such a gesture became towards the end. A tight hug with both arms, had become a meek hold, then a one-armed press to the shoulder, to a tender touch of the hand. She thought the Supreme had just naturally been pulling away, easing Mallory into standing on her own two feet allowing her confidence to grow on its own. It had never occurred to her there may have been any other reason. She had always been so encouraging. Behind that same door that night, there had not been silence as Mallory feared. The noise inside had her exhausted mind in a tailspin, thinking it had all been some cruel joke or a vision even, though that was one power she could not inherit from Cordelia’s passing. Frightened to find the witch alive and well behind those walls, as she so desperately wanted the woman to be, Mallory had pushed open the door and found, not the Supreme, but Misty, curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, her thin shoulders visibly shaking even under her shawl. To her surprise, Mallory had barely said two words, before the swamp witch had looked up. The young supreme had never seen such vitriol in the sweet witch’s eyes as she did then, never before had she felt the sting of such harsh words that lashed from that mouth in that thick Cajun drawl. Of course. Why should she have expected anything less? The others had tiptoed around her so tenderly, they said they understood. But even if they said they didn’t, Mallory still felt the blame that slithered under her skin. Their apologies and kind acceptance did little to assuage her own feelings of fault. It was almost refreshing, agonising as it was to experience, to hear Misty’s rage laid out so openly. And why should she not be so angry? The others could phrase it however they liked, but Mallory, in her own way, had helped take away the love of the woman’s life. The same woman who, just a few months prior, she had been a flower girl for at their wedding. And perhaps, worse still, in Misty’s eyes, if not Mallory’s own, she hadn’t tried to reverse it all. Hadn’t tried to bring Cordelia back from the darkness of death, as she had heard Queenie say Misty had done repeatedly until the poor witch had passed out, and that had been the only way they had been able to drag her home. Mallory had let Misty lash her with words, and left that room not long after, too hot from burning in the fires of blame to cry anymore tears but as she swept back down the hall, she could have sworn she heard Misty sob enough to douse and drown the both of them.

Mallory had rarely spoken with the swamp witch after that, afraid of the anger she might ignite again. Or worse, afraid to see the sorrow in her eyes, that still lingered in the air long after Misty had left a room. Afraid of the blame that she had a part to play in Cordelia’s death – never mind that life had never given her a choice - and that she hadn’t reversed anything after the fact to help bring her back. What the others did not know was how Mallory had offered to do just that, during one of their quiet conversations over tea. Back then it hadn’t seemed so close, it had merely come up in conversation as an eventuality. Mallory never would have said that Cordelia had been that far gone even then. Even the young supreme had not known that after her offers for help in all available capacity had been politely, then sternly and lastly sadly declined, and Mallory had left the room, that Cordelia had all but collapsed back on the bed and let her composure crumble, out of sight.

The envelope tucked in the young witch’s hands burned as she held it tightly, out of sight of prying eyes of those she passed on the stairs. Of course, she hadn’t thought to look there. This was like that second night all over again, but the dread that pooled in her stomach came not from what she would find missing, but what she would find still there.  As she made her way to the door, she saw Madison make her way through the crack in the door, a full cup of tea balanced in her hands.

“Is she in there?” She’s not sure why she asked. Queenie wasn’t one to lie about something like that and even if she hadn’t asked the voodoo witch beforehand, the aura that exuded from beyond that door, spilling out into the hall, was confirmation enough.

“She is…” There was no insult, no _swampy_ or _stevie’s love-child_ , not even a sign of that casual smirk in Madison’s reply. Only She. For who else would be in there? Who else had been known to set foot in that room, their room, since… It didn’t escape her notice, either, the way her voice had trailed off just quietly so. _She is, but…_ As Mallory neared the door, she saw the tea in the other witch’s hand had turned filmy and cold, it hadn’t been touched for a while. Her doe-eyes caught the sombre look on the starlets face, who shook her head slowly. _Not a good day._ The envelope in her hands creased a little more as Mallory’s fingers curled inwards whilst she took a deep breath to steady herself. She raised a hand to knock lightly on the wood, and the gentle hand on her arm briefly surprised her. “Just, be careful…” Madison said quietly. Mallory blinked and nodded – for lack of much else to offer in response to Madison’s soft words. She wondered, as she heard the click of the other witch’s heels walk away, just what she meant. Be careful, after what happened last time? Or be careful with her fragile friend? 

The young supreme knocked on the door, but as expected, there was no answer from within. Favouring a gentle hand over telekinesis, she pushed on the wood. The door gave a quiet creak as it opened and she slipped inside. It was lighter than she had expected. It may have just been an assumption, but she had almost prepared herself for a darkened hovel, a room of shadows and sorrow drenching what little light could filter through cracks in the curtains and stifling stale air. What she found was a room filled with light, sunlight blanching off bright walls, a breeze blowing through the air. Mallory blinked, as her eyes tried to adjust. It was all too bright. Not the gentle softness of early sunbeams on a slow morning, but a harsh blankness that sapped colour, swallowed softness, devoured life. Negative space. Even the figure stood just by the window seemed a paler palette of colour, as though the essence of it all was slowly seeping from her bones.

“Misty?” Mallory’s voice seemed to bounce off the blank walls like a thundering echo in the quiet space. She took a tentative few steps closer to the tall witch who had made no move at the sound of name. If she didn’t know any better, Mallory would have said she couldn’t even be sure whether she had heard anything at all. But even if she wasn’t listening, Misty knew she was there. She always knew. The younger witch supposed that was one of the reasons why Cordelia’s passing had hit her so hard. Because for all their closeness, for all her intuition and Cordelia’s confidences in her, that was one thing she hadn’t known the true extent of until it was too late. Mallory took another few steps closer. Crossing the room felt like trying to cross a barren wasteland, scorched by a winter sun and yet as unforgiving in its chill as an arctic tundra.

“What do you want?” the voice stopped Mallory in her slow progress. Again, she had foolishly expected venom, or anger or even just a harsh tone in that lilt that had once been so familiar. Expected it, prepared for it, feared it even. So, when those words had left the older witch’s lips in such a hoarse, desolate slur, her heart stopped. For just a second, she felt the force of true devastation crash into her, and had to take a moment to catch her breath again. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure she wanted Misty to turn around to face her. She wasn’t sure even all the supreme strength in the world could help her handle it. If that was just what exuded from her aura, she could never hope to imagine how Misty truly felt.    

“I just…” Mallory began slowly, quietly, the words feeling thick and fumbling in her mouth as she tried to work out what would be the best thing to say. “I don’t mean to bother you, I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone says they’re sorry.” And everyone knows it’s not enough. What could she say that hadn’t already been said? So instead, she steeled her resolve, stepped to the swamp witch’s side and she went straight to the point. “I came to give you this.”

It came out in a tumbling rush, as if she couldn’t say it fast enough for Misty not to reject her presence outright. With an outstretched hand, she offered the envelope. So close, she could see Misty stiffen when the edge of the paper brushed her arm. For a moment neither of them moved, and Mallory thought perhaps this had been a mistake after all. That she should have just tucked the envelope back in the book, put the book away in a drawer, and let it disappear with dust and time rather than dredge up anything. Cordelia had always appeared so much more assured when it came to decisions, Mallory was still learning how to emulate that and doubt herself less. But moments like these didn’t make it easy.

Like lightning before thunder, she saw the change before she felt it. Misty had shifted her frame to face her ever so slightly and looked down at the paper in the proffered hand. The dull blue in her eyes, like the sky of an overcast day, seemed to split down the middle with a sudden sheen like the crack of a storm, turning the dull haze to the blue of a tempestuous sea.

“I found it,” Mallory continued, keeping her tone as level as she could as she stumbled through words, any words, just to fill such a heavy silence. “I don’t know, I just thought- You should have it. I didn’t know what else to do with it, I’m so-“ she cut herself off when she felt Misty’s hand touch hers. So cold. Nothing like the warmth touch she used to offer so openly. Then again, Mallory couldn’t remember the last time they had touched at all since Cordelia… Gingerly, she let go of the envelope, and dropped her hand back to her side. She watched as Misty’s eyes traced those curved letters of her name, the way she flipped the paper over and pried at that edge that Mallory had been so tempted to open.

There was one sheet of folded paper that Misty carefully withdrew from inside, both sides covered in that delicate scrawl so densely there was barely spare space to see between all the black lines. Again the temptation flickered to life in Mallory’s gut, like embers. All she had to do was look past Misty’s shoulder and she might have been able to read it. She didn’t. She looked up to ask Misty whether it would be alright to take a look, and something about the fresh tears in her eyes made her stop. The choked sound that came from Misty’s throat broke off any words for such a request. She watched those gentle hands begin to shake, to the point where she wondered how Misty could read a word with the way her whole body seemed to tremble. She wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Never expected the tall swamp witch to stumble. It was perhaps only through sheer luck – and a touch of telekinesis – that Mallory had been in just the right position to ease the unexpected fall. She didn’t have the strength the other witch had always had in spades. How they had all laughed when they had returned to Robichaux’s after the wedding and without warning Misty had swept the old Supreme off her feet, in every literal sense, and carried her over the threshold like she weighed little more than a bouquet of roses yet held her in her arms as though she were just as delicate. She could still remember the way Cordelia’s embarrassed laugh had drifted in the air like scattered petals on the wind. All that strength had withered with her. In the cold reality of the room, Misty had sunk slowly to her knees and Mallory could only do her best to keep her from falling too hard against the hardwood floor. The two of them came to rest in an awkwardly knelt position, but despite how her joints were quick to complain at the angle, Mallory remained perched at the older witch’s side, unsure what else there was to do. Misty seemed to fold over herself, wrap her long limbs around the paper in her hands as the rest of her body wracked with shuddering, silent tears. Mallory couldn’t see them, with the witch’s face shadowed behind the unruly tangles of blonde that curtained her sorrow from view, but she didn’t have to. Her own cheeks felt the warm dampness of a stray tear or two she couldn’t quite hold back from her own dark eyes at the sight. Ever so carefully, she touched a hand to Misty’s back, felt the sharp protrusion of her spine at such an angle under her careful touch. To her surprise, it wasn’t cast off.

They must have been sat like that for some time, given the stiffness in Mallory’s own limbs. She stayed long enough for the shudders to stop, although the tears did not. She swallowed thickly, unsure whether it was a good time to break the silence. Would it ever be a good time?

“What can I do?” she asked quietly, although she could have been shouting for all how loud it sounded in the stillness. A beat passed. Then another. Another and Mallory thought Misty would say nothing at all – she would have taken the yelling from last time over this suffocation – but then that hoarse voice broke.

“Go.” Mallory drew her hand away from the other woman’s back and blinked at the watery layer held back in her own dark eyes.

“Are you sure? I could-“ There was a sniffle, a shuffle as Misty seemed to rearrange herself. She brushed a tangled stray of hair from her face, revealing reddened eyes and wet cheeks as she swiped at her nose with one unruly palm. The letter creased in the other in her lap. What did she say?

“Please,” Misty croaked, with another ungraceful sniff as she pulled herself ever so slightly away from Mallory’s touch. “Just go.” She needed no more prompting. As much as she longed to stay, to heal, to do anything but leave her alone, the young Supreme knew there was no spell for this. She bore the kind of wounds no spells, or swamp mud or Supreme could heal. If anything, she had been the one to remove the blade that had been buried so deep into the witch’s core, but now all she could do was watch as it all came bleeding out. It was too late to put any of it back, and there was no poultice to help put her back together. I’m sorry. She wanted to say so desperately, as she rose to her feet. I’m so sorry. But of course Misty didn’t want that. So she dragged her legs, like lead weights, back to the doorway. With one last look over her left shoulder, she saw the swamp witch still kneeled there on the hardwood floor, not having moved an inch since Mallory got up from her side. She wanted to say something, anything, but she had nothing left. She wasn’t Cordelia, she didn’t have all the comforting words, the effortless eloquence that she had possessed. She doubted anything she did say would have been heard anyway. Whatever last words Cordelia had left imparted on that page would always be more than anything Mallory could have offered. So instead, with a deep breath to steady herself, she just stepped out in the hallway in silence, and pulled the door quietly to, behind her.


	3. Just find my love, then find me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last section. I tried to end on a bittersweet note, rather than just a bitter one. I apologise for any mistakes with the latin, I make no claims to be an expert (although it did take me several days to compose).

No-one knew what was in that letter, no-one could ever find it. Misty had disappeared not long after that night, and along with her went any trace of it. No word, no warning, she simply wasn’t there one morning but unlike other excursions, this time she didn’t come back. The young supreme had her thoughts, and of course her concerns, but in the end even after help from her fellow witches, with scrying, locator spells and all manner of other things, she was nowhere to be found. Disappeared into nature, as she once heard Zoe mumble. There had been some questions at first, as to why she took off, but between the grief and her flighty nature no-one seemed completely surprised by the turn of events and there was no-one else to blame. Only Mallory knew differently.

Mallory would have liked to have known what was written in the old supreme’s cursive hand. The temptation to open that envelope before she had handed it over had licked at her insides. That curiosity didn’t burn so brightly now, but some days still simmered in the back of her mind. There was no way of knowing when it had been written, it could have been something old and long forgotten, it could have been her last words. The last lines to ever touch a page in her hand. There was no way of knowing now. Only Misty knew, wherever she was. And perhaps that was how it should be.

She traced a finger down the page of the book in her hands, to the last word, leaning over to the two dictionaries to her left that Zoe had given her when she had initially inquired. The other witch had questioned what it was she was trying to translate and that she would have been happy to help but Mallory had merely thanked her and insisted it was just a small curiosity and there was no need. It had been slow going, between the build up of responsibilities, overseeing classes and attending all sorts of things as the list of requirements slowly grew ever longer, but she found herself in quiet moments or late nights, coming back to it all the same. There came a knock at the door that drew her attention away from the book, mentally cursing that with the distraction she had lost the page number she had in mind for one of the dictionaries and would have to find it again. A familiar blonde popped her head in the door, and seeing Malory’s expression giving her the ‘all-clear’ she stepped in.

“Hey, Coco, what’s up?” she asked pleasantly, keeping her finger on the page to keep her place as the blonde witch wandered over. She looked about to give her message when her eyes drifted to the books and papers across the table.

“What are you working on?” Coco asked, distracted. Mallory could see the shine of curiosity in her eyes.

“Something,” Mallory replied, propping her pen down.

“Something important?” the blonde needled. A small smile cracked at Mallory’s lips just the same. It would be difficult to describe to anyone why a dusty old book of verse was worth wasting so much time over when she had so many Supreme things to keep track of. Perhaps Coco would feign understanding, or one day she would spill it all out to her close confidante. She had never asked about that night but Mallory had come close a few times to telling her the truth or at least her part of it, in Misty’s disappearance. But as of the moment, that was a story for another time.

“Just something,” she said vaguely. “Speaking of important, why’d you come find me? Is something wrong?” Something seemed to flicker in Coco’s eyes, realisation perhaps, and she shook her head vehemently.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing’s wrong!” she insisted which at least eased the tension a little that had formed in Mallory’s shoulders at her entrance. “Zoe just told me to remind you that the two o clock class has been moved back to three so you don’t have to worry,” Mallory nodded, yes the extra hour set aside just in case- “and to tell you the reporter’s here.” In case of that. “You ok?” Coco asked, taking note of Mallory’s expression. The young Supreme had never done the press part of her job description yet. The others had taken care of it, whilst she was still adjusting to everything. She had watched Cordelia from the sidelines enough times but the old Supreme had always been so poised, so confident, she wasn’t sure how to emulate that. If Cordelia had been a swan gliding effortlessly through their press pond, Mallory still felt like little more than the ugly duckling floundering in her wake, all feathers and fluff. “Is this a good time? Shall I tell him to wait downstairs?” Coco’s cautious voice drew her back to the present. She thought of all the painted eyes of all the previous supremes looking down on them in that room, scrutinising her every move under their heavy gazes she wouldn’t have to see to feel watching over her, not with any malice but a pressure of Mallory’s own making upon herself. But then she remembered Cordelia’s portrait hung among them. Those painted eyes but a pale imitation of the warmth of the real thing but it helped with the memories sometimes. To see the one who had such faith in her ability to take up these things, even back then… She shook her head to answer Coco’s question, and offered her a small smile.

 “No, no. It’s ok. Tell him to come up. Just give me a few minutes,” Mallory said kindly and Coco nodded, giving a gentle pat to Mallory’s hand before she disappeared out the door to do just that. Mallory looked back down at the notepad and books in front of her. It seemed to click then. That last bit. She flipped through one of the books again and found the right page, the right word and hurriedly scribbled it down. Shoving the rest of the textbooks aside, she gathered the lines together on the notepad and read the translation it had taken days to configure;

_Si ,  si nobis aliquid e vitae ultra mors_

_Si nobis aliquid quod extra ultra ips mor, si est aliquid habes_

_ipsum vitae extra_

_Est noster amor et est manet_

_Hoc aevo, nolite flere super hac vita_

_En simpliciter nimium amorem est_

_i est vestrum adprehendet vos rursus, in alteras vita_

_Hac unum talis amor, est non satis_

Mallory couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips upon reading the passage, mouthing the words under her breath. She could almost hear it, something so sweetly personal, a scribbled candid capture in Cordelia's gentle cadence... Another light knock on the door drew her attention and this time a male voice called through the bittersweet mists that had clouded her eyes and her mind. “Miss? May I come in?”

“Just a second!” Mallory called back, and hurriedly grabbed the dictionaries and textbooks, setting them in a neater pile on the edge, gathered up the papers beside them, swept empty pens and scraps of scrunched up paper into the trash can. And finally, finally turned to the old leather book. She removed the placeholder keeping the final page on show, and picked it up, tracing the handwritten letters with a small smile. _i est vestrum adprehendet vos rursus, in alteras vita. - I will find you again, in the next life._

She felt it then, a gentle breeze through the room, although none of the windows had been opened, like a half-forgotten whisper drifting just past her ear in that soft cadence. The lightest pressure of a gentle hand to her shoulder. The Supreme blood in her veins tingled with a warmth she hadn’t known for days. Cordelia had known all along. Long before Mallory had ever said or explained anything. Long before their late-night talks and shared sentiments over tea. And her faith in Mallory to take her place had never faltered, not even for a second. It had just taken some time for the young Supreme herself to believe it, to accept it with every cost. She carefully closed the book, pulled open the drawer and set it gently inside. She pushed the drawer closed just as the man waiting outside pushed the door open. Mallory blinked back the shine of a stray tear, offered him a smile, motioning for him to come in and straightened herself back in the chair behind the desk.

She watched as he sat himself down in the chair across from her, and began to take out his things for the interview. His deep blue shirt under his jacket was a sharp shock of colour in the white room, and he seemed to catch her look.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, his dark brow furrowed a little as he clicked his pen.

The office would always be Cordelia’s space, even if Mallory ever intended to rearrange any furniture or shift things around, the memory of the past Supreme still lived in those white-washed walls, upon that desk, in the creak of the chair that had been softened in long hours of study. But the presence no longer frightened the younger witch finally coming into full bloom, rather it fuelled her, filled with the reminders of the one who had nurtured her soul to rise in spite of the decline of her own. She was once unable to sit behind the desk without finding it difficult to breathe, without feeling the choking vine of expectation grow in circles around her chest. Now, even in death, ever the tender gardener, Cordelia had cut those vines away, just as she always had before, nurturing her yesterdays and giving Mallory the means to bloom in her tomorrow.

“It will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In defence of the letter: this section/piece is from Mallory's perspective, we only see what she sees. Maybe one day we will see it from someone else's.


End file.
